


Miss Westerosi

by ladylace616



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beauty Contest, Creepy Petyr Baelish, F/M, Foster Care, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Modeling, Past Rape/Non-con, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Triggers, sansan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 22:37:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15350274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladylace616/pseuds/ladylace616
Summary: Modern Day AU. Sansa Stark is a beautiful, long legged model competing in the Miss Westerosi beauty contest. There is a gruesome security guard at the event that she keeps bumping into… M for dark adult themes, pay attention to trigger warnings.





	Miss Westerosi

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you won't mind the change in voice later in the chapter. It was a raw scene to write for me and better done in first person, I thought. Your thoughts?

**Miss Westerosi by ladylace616**

_A modern AU tale of Beauty and the Beast. Sansa Stark is a beautiful, long legged model competing in the Miss Westerosi beauty contest. There is a gruesome security guard at the event that she keeps bumping into…._  
#Sandor Clegane #Sansa Stark #ModernAU #Modern #Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark #Sansan

 

* * *

 

Sansa Stark was a famous model. She appeared in magazines and on billboards. She walked the catwalk like she was born to do so. She was effortlessly charming and appealing. Her thin waist was the envy of many and her long red hair and pouty lips got her several commercial deals. She was, by all accounts, a big deal.

She couldn’t walk through an airport without being chased by the paparazzi. Photographers camped out at the foot of her lavish home’s driveway, hoping to catch a glimpse of her taking out her trash. She was a Westerosi sweetheart, a shoe-in for the title.

What the public didn’t know is that Little Miss Sansa Stark was far from perfect. After her shows, she always snuck outside behind the building to smoke. She knew it was a nasty habit but the relief she felt doing it was so was worth it.

A big, burly man with dark hair on his forearms was standing outside the back staff entrance this time. He was there for a smoke, too. He wore a grey uniform shirt and tight black slacks. His shirt stretched to cover his massive chest, and she had to look up to get a good look at his face due to his towering height.

She tried not to blanch visibly at what she saw. His cigarette rested on the good side of his mouth. The other side of his mouth was mangled by a scar that spanned the entire right side of his face. The scar tissue was stretched, white and shiny, across that side of his face. He had on a black cap that partially hid some of the scars. Below the cap, his eyes were shaded and narrowed in her direction. He had caught her looking.

“Did you want to take a picture?”

He leaned closer towards her, trying to intimidate her. Sansa ruffled under his gaze, but didn’t rise to the bait. “No, not particularly.” She calmly reached into her purse and pulled out her cigarettes. “I doubt you’d win any beauty contests,” she said dismissively. She arched her eyebrow. “Do you got a light?”

He reached into his pants pocket with a huge hand and withdrew a lighter. She leaned in close, and the wind blew her long hair around her a little. He lit the cigarette and she inhaled deeply.

He caught a glimpse of her wrist as she held up her cigarette for another drag after that. The pale skin of her wrist was crisscrossed with feint white scars. She noticed him looking, but chose not say anything. She shrugged her shoulders, as if to say, _“So you have scars, don’t we all?”_

They met time and time again on at the back staff entrance. He took to guarding her more than anyone else. The other beauty contestants called him her faithful Dog.

She was extraordinary- every smile she threw his way was a treasure because she smiled like his face wasn’t a wreck. She smiled like she didn’t care in the slightest. That was probably because she bore scars of her own.

He noticed the scars on her wrist the first time they met. As he got to know her, he discovered there were more than just physical scars. They were more alike than she could imagine. He let her talk mostly, not offering very much in return. He drunk in the knowledge that was her, savoring her presence.

 She was always gone too soon, Beauty Queen that she was. She was fierce, intelligent, and sarcastic, but she was also well-liked and popular among the ladies. They never left her alone for too long.

Tired of waiting his turn, he took a chance one day when they met at their usual spot. It had become a daily ritual and he was always disappointed when she was late, or his timing was off. While he had the courage, he gruffly asked if she’d like to go and get coffee or a drink sometime. Off the clock.

He was surprised when she readily agreed. She gave him her address and told him to pick her up the next morning. He wasn’t surprised when he pulled up to the security gates leading to her home. Of course she had top notch security. He buzzed up to the house to be let in, and the gate allowed him entrance automatically.

Sansa was waiting outside her front door. She looked particularly long legged in the pale green sundress she wore. The very sight of her made him ache in the most peculiar way. He felt already that she was his to protect, and they hadn’t even kissed yet.

If she had any objections to his beat up black Ford pick-up truck, she voiced no opinion as she slid in next to him. She didn’t need to sit so close to him, but she did with her thigh pressed against his comfortably. When he lifted his arm to rest on the back of the pick-up seat and loosely around her shoulders, she leaned into it.

Sansa was a ray of sunshine first thing in the morning. While it was usually not best to talk to him before his first coffee, he made an exception for Sansa. While she asked him about his hobbies, he made small talk. He commented on Sansa’s bright enthusiasm with the wait staff.

“Little bird, chirping all those courtesies,” he observed with a curious raised eyebrow. The elderly waitress filling up their coffee mugs had just left them, smiling at Sansa’s compliment about her necklace.

“What? I saw something I liked, so I said something about it, is that a crime?” she playfully asked.

“Suppose not,” Sandor said, and she didn’t miss his meaning as his eyes lingered on her lips.

She knew he liked her. She liked him, too. She felt safe around him. No man had ever made her feel that way.

After they shared their coffee and a meal, Sandor paid the check and went to her side of the truck to open her door for her like a gentleman. Her eyes had a mischievous glint to them as she peered up at him. He wasn’t blind- he didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned down and captured her lips in a reverent kiss.

His kiss was urgent, hard, and desperate and she clung to him. Their lip lock left them both breathless. She was his from that moment on.

Their relationship progressed slowly. Sandor considered himself lucky to spend time with her at all. That their sexual relationship progressed slowly bothered him none. He was excellent about not pressuring her. They only went as far as she felt comfortable, which was usually some light groping.

He came to a deeper understanding why when she finally told him she was ready. What should have been a heavenly experience was tainted by his own useless sense of rage and horror.

Now he understood why she never wanted to take her clothes off. When Sansa finally let one of her dresses slip off her shoulders and down her body, she stood in her underwear alone. Her milky thighs were covered in long, horizontal streaks of scarred flesh.

He wanted to be turned on by her baring herself like she was, but all he felt was helpless rage. _What he would do to the person who harmed his Sansa….!!!_

She came near and tried to soothe him. He rested the mangled side of his face against her breast and felt her heart racing under what was left of his ear. When he put his arms around her to hold her tight, he felt there were more scars on her back. He was afraid to look.

No wonder she didn’t so much as bat an eyelash at his scars anymore.

Afterwards, she volunteered information about her scars. He said he didn’t want to pry, because maybe he himself wasn’t ready to share his story. But he listened to hers, since she felt inclined to share.

 

 

…………

 

“When my parents died, me and my sister went to stay with my aunt and uncle. They weren’t happy to have us. My aunt was cruel to us, and my uncle was even more sinister still. Arya ran away before she found that out. She was always more spunky than me. She would have known what to do, how to say no.”

“When I was fifteen, he started coming into my room in the middle of the night. He would leave his wife’s side and come to my bed. I was miserable but I had nowhere else to go. I was terrified my aunt would find out. And then when she did, it was just as bad as I thought it would be.

“She stormed into my room one night with a gun. She let the bullets fly, screaming her rage. One hit me in the shoulder and I was laid out on my back. I lost consciousness. When I woke up, the police were there but my aunt and uncle had fled the scene. They put me into protective child services.

“I lived in the group home for a couple of months. Having a pretty face in group is a disadvantage, paints a target on your back. I got into some fights, had to cut my hair short. I was feeling overall bruised and neglected when finally a couple decided to foster me…

Roose and Walda Bolton were an odd couple. He was a taciturn, dour looking balding man that stood so tall next to his plump wife, round with child. She was a large woman anyhow but her face shined with happiness almost always. She wanted to foster a teenage girl because she wanted some help around the house when the baby came.

“It’s just Roose, Ramsay, and me in that big old house,” the pleasant Mrs. Bolton said. “I get so tired of all these boys, this one’s supposed to be a boy too,” she said, indicating her girth. “I always wanted a little girl, but I think you’re lovely, Sansa.”

It started out so good. Walda paid me lots of attention before the baby came. She even helped me with my homework and took me shopping, something Aunt Lysa never did.

Roose was pretty much a tight lipped fellow, he let his wife do all the talking for both of them. Ramsay was Roose’s teenage son from his previous marriage. He was a couple of years older than me.

It was no secret that he hated the fact that his father was remarried and expecting a new son. He didn’t try to hide his dislike for Walda, which was probably all the more reason why they chose to foster me. Even in the beginning, Ramsay was cruel. He wasn’t happy that I was there, either.

Roose got a promotion at his job, and started spending more time away from the family. Baby Frey was born and Walda was consumed in his caretaking and had little time for me anymore.

Her attention strayed, and Ramsay saw his moment. He cornered me in my room one day while Walda was away at the doctor’s office. He raped me, and he threatened me if I told anyone he would kill me.

He was so violent and his rage came out during those horrible times. It happened countless times while Roose was away on business. I became afraid and withdrawn. I stopped showering and taking care of myself, hoping he would be repulsed and leave me alone.

I was wrong, so very wrong. He caught onto my game. I thought he had defiled me every way he knew how. So wrong again. He started tying me up and cutting me. I tried to hide what was going on. I was so ashamed and afraid. I didn’t want to go back into the system, but being there was intolerable. Everything was intolerable.

I tried to take my own life. I cut my own wrists and was found in the bathtub. The paramedics were able to revive me. When the hospital saw the state that my body was in, covered in fresh scars, I was removed from the Bolton house.

I was sent to stay in a mental institution next. It was a ward for similarly troubled teenage girls.

One of the girls at the facility had a severe eating disorder. She had a feeding tube in her stomach for forced feedings. She was emaciated and floated around the common space listlessly, like a feather in the wind.

My roommate at the facility was the sex starved Margaery who tried to lure staff into lewd acts. Some of them indulged her, others didn’t. She had a compulsion to have sex that made her unwell.

 “My doctor’s name was Dr. Mormont. Kind and handsome, Dr. Mormont. The others girls said I was lucky to get him. After my 90 day period paid for by the state was up, I was ejected from the program and opted to get myself emancipated when I was seventeen.

I worked two part time jobs. I waitressed and worked as a front desk clerk at a resort in town. I had an apartment of my own. I didn’t need anybody.

That’s when I was discovered~ a film was being produced and the whole cast and crew stayed at the resort. One of the producers noticed me, and asked me if I had ever done any modeling work. The rest, as they say, is history,” she said. “That’s how I got my scars, what about you?” she candidly asked.

“Maybe another time,” he said, tenderly brushing some hair back behind her ear. “It’s a long story, Little Bird,” he said. She tried not to look disappointed, but she knew it took time sometimes. She could wait. She wasn’t planning on going anywhere. She never felt safer or more at ease than in her Hound’s embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Are you interested in reading more? I have a couple of chapters already written but want some feedback! Would you be interested in Sandor's modern day tale or more of Sansa's background? Leave a comment or kudos, puhleez~! ^_^


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